


The Poison Tart

by KT_Perry



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Cute, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Meet-Cute, Romance, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-12 22:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20572205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KT_Perry/pseuds/KT_Perry
Summary: When the musketeers come to investigate a series of poisonings, Aramis has a run in with a young Lady's maid.





	The Poison Tart

The musketeers had shown up just after supper time, when the shadows had grown long across the field outside and Anais had only just started lighting candles in the drawing room for her Lady's before-bed reading.

The middle aged Lady Beatrice had recognized the armed men instantly when they entered; Anais had not—partly from not having spent enough time in the sprawling city of Paris since she'd been freed, and partly from avoiding all king's men before she'd been freed.

She had no intention of returning to the city, even now.

Lady Beatrice knew them better than just as musketeers however, and had even let slip Monsieur Athos' given name without title.

He hadn't seemed to notice her informality, and from that simple exchange it was clear their history was deeper than their austere greeting when they had offered Anais when they arrived in the darkness. The rough looking leader only tipping his hat in the dusk light outside the door, flanked by three imposing male figures— hands on their hilts, forgoing introductions with a mere, ‘ Good evening Madame, we are here to see your Lady'

They spoke in hushed tones for a short time, on the poisonings she had overheard the palace servants whispering about at the bazaar that morning.

Lady Beatrice had allowed Anais to hover in the corner with interest, until she realized it had been an hour since the men had arrived and she'd yet to offer them food, only drink. And so Anais had made off quickly to the kitchen to see what the cooks might have left out.

There hadn't been anything but a few tart cups left to set in the cold room, so she put together something quickly. Lemon tarts to accompany the tea she would offer.

When she'd returned they were speaking even quieter amongst themselves, and the man that appeared to lead them glared at the interruption as she swept into the room.

Anais pointedly ignored him.

A former slave and now servant, she was used to those looks.

They may have guards about the estate, especially in times such as these, but she was not about to leave her lady alone with unknown men. Not until she knew for certain that they meant no harm.

She set the items out on the table with a small smile for each of the men, and a wink for her lady, who grinned widely at her —just before a scolding shout rung through the drawing room.

"Aramis!"

The booming voice cuts through the air like a knife landing with a warning thud next to your ear, and it has the same effect. Everyone in the room turns to stare at Athos, who was pointing suspiciously to the tart in Aramis' hand.

"Athos!" Lady Beatrice's voice in response is almost more offended than Anais feels.

Though, like any distrust directed at one's person she feels the punch deep in her gut.

"Anais isn't-she would never-" Beatrice started.

It's only then that she can vocalize her shock, as the panic from his shout settles her galloping heart and she realizes truly what he is accusing her of.

"You-you think I've poisoned them?" Her voice is more surprised than anything else, and her brows shoot up into her hairline, though only for an instant.

Anais looked between the four men, two looked ashamed, all downcast eyes and tight lips. The youngest, a pretty youth with long dark hair and denser eyelashes than any woman she'd ever seen—an artist's muse embodied. The other a striking, curly-haired bag of —previously grinning, muscle.

The two others Athos and Aramis, held her gaze with two very different expressions in their eyes.

The leader's eyes held a dark shade of mistrust and disapproval, as she suspected however; there was also most definitely a hint of irritation, lingering from her presence’s interruption of business that was considered.... over her status.

The other, Aramis apparently, with tanned skin, wind swept chestnut locks, and dark smiling eyes; seemed as unwaveringly amused as he had been at her entrance.

The idea of nibbling a bit of poisoned fruit tart, was clearly not enough to dampen his mood. Though, behind that —and what kept her eyes lingering on his, was an odd bit of affectionate sympathy. A care you found in the eyes of very few when directed at mere acquaintances or servants at that, as it was currently at her.

She smiled back, and a few small lines crinkled the corner of his dark eyes as she stepped towards him.

She knew she was being bold.

Too bold, for her status in any company other than Beatrice's.

Poison —though, seemed such a dramatic accusation that she felt it required a dramatic defense.

And from the look in Aramis' eyes as she approached, she could tell drama was a second language to him.

"May I?" was all she had to ask with a short glance down at the tart in his hand; and that was all the incentive he needed.

His smile widened, and he raised a brow as he began to hand her the tart, seemingly as not to be too presumptuous of her intention— but they both knew she wasn't about to take it.

She leaned in and stole a bite. Careful not to brush her lips against his fingers though, as she slowly met his eyes. There was a faint hint of surprise amongst the amusement, and a trace of something even more promising and primal behind.

The room was silent, and she felt rather accomplished in the shocked horror of the moment; and even more at the wide grin set into Aramis' mouth as he watched her swallow the lemony morsel.

Beatrice let out an unladylike snort behind them.

They both glanced over at his leader and the now pursed line that was his mouth, and at the corner of her eye she saw Aramis shrug and press what she'd left of the tart into his mouth.

That drew her eyes back to him, and the nonchalant way he drew his thumb between his lips to lick away the leftover pastry, while holding her gaze all the while—before another shrug, and a brazen wink.

"Delicious," he deemed, before turning away to pour himself some more rum they had found, as he continued, "Honestly gentleman, the arsenic gives it an added kick."

Beatrice clicks her tongue at the tasteless joke, snapping Anais from her heady stuper.

Still, Aramis was grinning when he turned back towards them though, with two cups now.

He does not hesitate in offering her one with a smile.

Nor does she hesitate in taking it gratefully. She doesn't correct his jest either, but for a small raise of her glass.

The youth and the muscle take that as a stamp of safety, and the two tarts in each of their hands are gone as quickly as they appeared.

She leaves them not long after to their business; she knows when she is not welcome, though she ignores it most of the time.

From her room she can hear them talking late into the night, though even when their voices rise it is still muffled enough through the floorboards that she cannot make out any distinct words.

She finds it unreasonably difficult to keep her curiosity in check, and even finds herself leaning unconsciously towards the door when it seems things are getting heated.

Though she knows that her reaction stems from a hint of protectiveness for her Lady, when she sets down her book to eavesdrop, she also recognizes that three of the four men would be up in arms before anything happened to her lady.

But also, Beatrice, that fantastic lioness of a woman, could most definitely take care of herself.

She is near sleep when the voices die down, and she hears all of the patrons head to their rooms, and even Beatrice's door above her close.

Or she thinks she does. Because a few minutes later there is a soft wrap on her door.

She cannot help the frown of confusion that sets itself into her face, and she pulls a sheet over her shoulders as a shawl and saunters over to her door.

She feels safe enough with so many guards around to open her door a creek without asking who it is prior.

There is a mass of chestnut curls in the doorway in front of her, and when he turns his dark eyes towards her, she is met with an unwithheld smile. Which she mirrors instantly.

"Monsieur?" she offers politely, as his eyes drop down her form in the most respectful appraisal she'd ever been party too. It's smooth and non too brash, but also not sly or slimy in the slightest . Really more of an appreciation, than an appraisal at all.

"Madame," the title rolls off his tongue, and the slight bow and tip of his hat, brings a familiar flush to her cheeks and tingle to her belly and skin.

"May I inquire as to what occasion has brought you to my door..." she quirks a brow, that is answered quickly with a mischievous smile as she finishes, ".. so late at night?"

He removes his hat, and somehow his locks bounce back into place, like he had taught them a trick.

"I have come to apologize for my Captain's brash suspiciousness."

She opened her mouth, but he shakes his head pleadingly, and so she closes it politely to wait for him to finish.

"Please, Madame, you made us food, an unnecessary and kind gesture to uninvited strangers such as ourselves, and you were met with rudeness."

She can tell that this is obviously not the only reason he is at her door at this hour, but there is an unquestionable genuinity to his voice, that almost makes her feel guilty in questioning his motives. Almost.

He smiles softly and bows to her, a sweeping gesture, graceful and dramatic as the man presenting it.

"I was raised to rectify such an insult. So please accept my sincerest apology."

For a long moment she is shocked, because it sounds— by its branded practiced nature, that he truly was raised to do such, and she feels the need to acquiesced his supplication.

"It is no insult," she assures him as he straightens and meets her eyes, "I understand your Captain's... hesitance."

He smiled, and as it always seemed to be, it was contagious.

"Then you are far more understanding than most, for we find ourselves in unpleasant situations more often than not over his pestering."

She laughs a little at that, and his eyes crinkle at little as he watches her.

"I'm sure he is only being a good captain, and looking out for his men."

"He is," his agreement is whole hearted.

"Even if he could have a little more tact going about it," she adds, and his nod is something of adamant exasperation.

"He could."

They share a short chuckle between them, and she fixes her shawl over her shoulders when a cool breeze wades in from her open window. The bushes rustle with the wind and the sweet scent of lilacs envelop them.

She clears her throat, when their eyes linger on one another for what she knows is too long to be considered appropriate. And the quirk to his lips tells her that he does too.

"I was about to retire," she whispers.

He nods, and though his smile does not leave even for an instant, he tips his head farewell.

"Very well, Madame, I shall not keep you from your sleep. Sweet dreams."

She is shocked when he turns to leave so easily. Shocked, and pleasantly surprised, and curious, as to whether it is a tactic that works on as many women as she would suspect.

"Does that work on all the ladies?"

There is a pause before he pivots slightly; the smile has still not left his mouth.

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

She grins wider still.

"A kiss is all that you came to my door looking for?"

The grin accompanying his reply is positively sinful.

"I came to apologize for my captain, as I said."

But there is a gleam in his eyes now. Feisty and promising and she is not so tired anymore. But not so inclined to give into this game either.

"Oh, yes, right."

There is a lull in their conversation which neither of them is willing to fill, for the odd feeling that it would be losing this small bit of challenge. Both searching for a way to break it without giving up that bit of power.

He is the first to, and she smiles a bit triumphantly, and he allows her this, though she can see the small amused narrow of his eyes as he speaks.

"But now that you've mentioned a kiss..." he whispers from the dark hall, taking a step back into the light from her room, his skin a warm honey in the flickering candle.

"So I have." she allows, though it was him that mentioned it.

He steps into the very perimeter of her personal space to lean against the doorway.

She can feel the heat of him coming through his clothes, radiating off him like a flame, in contrast to the brisk breeze from her window behind her.

All of this she only notices now, under the warmth of his eyes.

He stands there a moment before her and there is another short bout of silence as she holds his gaze and pulls her lip into her mouth; an action he watches with avid attention.

The sweet-bitterness of fruity wine still clings to it.

His hand, gloved again, catches hers slowly, and he does not look away from her eyes as he brings her chilly fingers to his lips. They are scalding against her skin, and his impeccably tended beard tickles her hand in the most pleasant of ways and sends an unadulterated tingle down her belly.

The flickering of the candle adjacent them is visible in his eyes as he leans in a little closer towards her, melting the space between them, her fingers still pressed to his lips.

"Goodnight, Madame."

The words are a whisper, and he releases her hand slowly, and not completely until he has turned and can no longer hold it.

He set his hat back atop his head, and made his way past the the stairwell to his rooms by the time she regained herself.

She huffed a little, knowing he had baited her into offering more than she'd like, in a completely different way than expected.

"It is Mademoiselle, Sir."

He stops, and turns again, meets her eyes another long moment before quickly swooping his hat into another grand, gallant bow.

Likely to hide the wide grin she can all but feel on his face.

"Mademoiselle."

**Author's Note:**

> *Has not been beta edited*
> 
> My first work i’ve ever published! Please feel free to shoot me feedback ;3


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